


come be my april fool

by a_different_equation



Series: Magnificent Bastard!AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Baking, Bookstores, DRAMAtical Lesbians, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Humor, Great British Bake Off - Freeform, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV John Watson, Queer Themes, Romance, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sweet Sherlock, Writer Sherlock Holmes, sherlock wears glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16208768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: After leaving ‘The Great British Bake Off’, Sue Perkins has written a book about Victorian baking. Tonight, on April 1st, she is reading at ‘The Bard’, Mike Stamford’s bookstore in central London. It is the exact same spot where John Watson, battered and bruised, had learned all about his magnificent bastard – one Mr. Sherlock Holmes, famous gay crime fiction writer – for the first time.A story about found family, DRAMAtical lesbians, how to react when your boyfriend has a military kink but he doesn't want to act on it, oh, and popping the question.Sequel to 'i read your book, you magnificent bastard'.





	come be my april fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jobooksandcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobooksandcoffee/gifts).



> This story is part of a series. ‘come be my april fool’ will probably not make that much sense if you have not read the first story yet which is called: , ‘i read your book, you magnificent bastard’ (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770717).
> 
> However, maybe/hopefully, you want to give it a try, this is its official summary: “In which John Watson, recently returned from the war, buys a book in Mike Stamford’s bookshop and Sherlock Holmes is a famous, openly gay, crime fiction writer whose hero is in need of a partner. A starting point for more than one story.” (BBC!Johnlock, teen and up audiences, ca. 4k)
> 
> Basically, it’s an AU (writer!Sherlock WITH GLASSES) that has some meta-ish aspects. Also, queer as f*ck. Patti Smith lyrics, of course. The Game is on.
> 
> Thanks to pipmer for beta reading an earlier version of this text. All remaining errors are my own. The recipe in the end notes is mine. For jobooksandcoffee who's magnificent bastard!AU biggest fan.
> 
> Happy reading (and baking)!

_Come. Be my April Fool._

_Come. We break all the rules._

_Come. You’re the only one._

(Patti Smith: ‘ **April Fool** ’)

 

At first, Sherlock had refused to watch ‘The Great British Bake Off’. For weeks, John had snuck down to Mrs Hudson’s on his own. The elderly woman is a fan. When John had been moping around in the flat because Sherlock had been away for some publicity stunt that he had hated to attend but they both knew that it was non-negotiable, she had lured him downstairs.

“John, be a dear, could you help me... you know, my hip.”

One telephone call, something at the sink that miraculously solved itself, but still, tea was steaming in the cups and the biscuit tin was open already, and then the ever so casual remark that there was a show airing just now, ‘The Great British Bake Off’, and the rest is history.

Mrs Hudson had told John everything: about the candidates, the competition, the naughty bits, and yes, about the presenters, Mel and Sue who are friends for almost 30 years.

Sherlock, obviously, when he had joined them some weeks later had deduced it all in minutes (and more) and had been a constant figure on Mrs Hudson’s sofa ever since for reasons “unknown” (officially). It had been _nice_ that Sherlock had continued to be a cuddler. Snuggling partly in a blanket, partly draping himself over John, it had been nice. Mrs Hudson had been non-secretly pleased.

 

It only got awkward when scenes like the following happened on ‘The Great British Bake Off’: “If you were going to get married, what sort of wedding cake would you bake”, Sue Perkins had asked one of the competitors.

Their reply had been something else: “Quite often, weddings are just an exercise in narcissism. I cannot... I cannot be bothered. That is not to say that I hate romance, I am not that much of a cynic.”

Only topped by the dead-panned retort by Sue: “So if you make a wedding cake it would say things like, ‘This will never last.’ Or, ‘One in two marriages ends in divorce.’”

John had been close to laughing; Sue Perkins was Sue Perkins, right? Sherlock’s lips had curved in a hint of a smile, which could turn into a smirk as well.

Mrs Hudson however? First, she had talked non-stop about her husband who had run a drug cartel, and how she had been an exotic dancer. Overall, it was a wild tale and for a second John had questioned how much of Sherlock’s book series is actually based on true events. Then she had dropped the bomb with, “Mrs Turner next door, she has married ones”; only topped by “You two, you are going to last.”

Sherlock and John had accepted the massive hug by Mrs Hudson for their sudden feeling of being... shell-shocked?

 

When ‘The Great British Bake Off’ had moved from the BBC to Channel 4 (“We are not going with the dough”, Mel and Sue had said, making reference to the fact that Channel 4 outbid the show’s home channel) and new presenters had been introduced, Sherlock had surprised them by setting up the watch along in their flat instead. Nonchalant, he had said to Mrs Hudson, “I do not have the time to explain Wi-Fi to you.”

“Oi, Sherlock, I am not ancient, you know. Wiggins has just installed WhatsApp on my smartphone...”, she had replied, looking through his meddling and real motive like a true mother.

Who was now watching the reruns every Sunday afternoon with them, and Sherlock still claimed that he was doing it exclusively for the biscuits.

 

* * *

 

When the announcement had come that Sue Perkins would read from her new book about Victorian baking in ‘The Bard’ on April 1st, it had seemed such a sure thing that all three of them would attend together.

However, Mrs Hudson had said, “No, you two go, hush, it is decided”, and they had not argued but John is pretty confident that come Mrs Hudson’s birthday, there will be a private book event with Sue Perkins in 221b Baker Street. Maybe even the delicious sounding twist of a Victoria sponge with strawberry and rhubarb filling and a baiser topping will be devoured then. The one that Sue Perkins is going to introduce to the rapt audiences tonight.

 

And tonight, tonight might be even a date which would been extra perfect because ‘The Bard’ has a special meaning for them.

Here, John had come after five long years in the army, finding his way back home and sorting out not only where to live and what to do with his life, professionally and privately, but also to come to terms with his sexual identity. During Christmas time, Mike Stamford had broken his train of thought and had recommended a certain novel by saying: “Oh, how could I forget? There is a new book, mate. He is an acclaimed writer. The novel is part of a series. He works with the official forces occasionally. The creator is openly gay. Might be right up your street. Sherlock Holmes, have you heard of him?”

 

Some days, John wishes to really swap the chains that had cling to him for five long years to matching rings on their fingers forever, but John knows his Sherlock, and it is what it is, and it is good, very good.

 

And John is confident that Mrs Hudson knew all about it (and so much more) and had wanted to get them their own private date at least. Oh yes, Mrs Hudson to leave Baker Street – England would fall.

Sherlock would deny it if asked, so John simply had put his best clothes on, acted all surprised, and has pretend to not saw a bottle of the best champagne in the fridge appearing yesterday.

No, certainly, it is a normal, ordinary day, a book reading and his ever busy boyfriend just happen to have an evening off which is practically unheard off, not that John is complaining because John loves Sherlock, and Sherlock loves him – he only happens to love his work very much too (and John’s work is basically Sherlock’s work these days, and he’s not complaining about that ever because... best life.)

But to see that his boyfriend is making an effort, to go out in public, to socialize (to a degree, John is pretty confident that they will skip the after-party or whatever Mike has in store, and hopefully, Sherlock will not say something like, “John and I have to go home now. Come John, sex is waiting.”), and even it was surely Mrs Hudson’s set-up that Sherlock is here with him tonight... it is nice, very nice indeed. They are having a gay night out, as the Victorian used to say, fancy that.[1]

 

* * *

 

The event started at 8pm.

The bells from the nearby church had announced the full hour as they rushed through the cobblestone streets. Sherlock had known a shortcut, or so he had claimed. For a writer, his boyfriend had some odd knowledge. When they had stood in front of the bookstore at last, John could not stop the “Fantastic” slipping out. Both were out of breath and John had felt his age but mostly – as he has thought since this madman swept him away with “Afghanistan or Iraq?” – so alive.

Mike is still ‘The Bard’s’ proud owner who seems to get more cheery with every visit. He is certainly ‘The Bard’s’ beating heart and surely the reason why love and happiness have found its way here as well. Because as much as Mike is fabulous at finding the perfect book for every reader, he also has a knack at being a matchmaker.

Detective stories might have been John Watson’s first love but Sherlock Holmes has been in love for more than a year now – all thanks to Mike Stamford.

 

Entering ‘The Bard’ is as if the stage is set and the curtain rises to the newest adventures. That there are stories to unfold and to be told and retold again, like the fabric of life. John Watson was a storyteller, though maybe not as successful and public as his Sherlock, Mr Sherlock Holmes, the famous author.

‘The Bard’ is home to many stories. There are ladders on which you can climb up and down on your hunt for new reading material. The shelves have telling names instead of genre and labels; here, books are not in alphabetical order or sorted after colour schemes or size.

Normally, there are towers of books everywhere but tonight they have been cleared off. Instead, a vintage seat and an old lamp have been brought into the main room. The rug on which chair and lamp are standing on could be a new addition too if John is not mistaken. All items might be Victorian but John cannot be sure. Straightforward so far: the author in the spotlight, a bit aloof from the audiences, and a set-up to enhance the mood.

However, Mike is no ordinary bookshop owner, just as ‘The Bard’ is not your typical chain bookstore. Besides ‘Gay is the Word’, ‘The Bard’ might be the most infamous bookstore in all of London. Which Mike proves again tonight with an impromptu cake & tea lounge. John is confident that all the delicious recipes from Sue Perkins’ book are on offer to taste tonight. Mike himself is dressed in something that might be the attire of a Victorian doctor.

 

It might have been 5 minutes past eight, when they scrambled for their seats. Front row, no less. John had tried for a military pacing. Mike’s eyes had caught them. His best friend from university days had been a bit scolding at first, but then his look had switched to secretly pleased. Damn, one could not keep anything from Mike.

John knew that he had blushed. Sherlock had only preened. Walk of shame, not his division. His button-down today was a lovely shade of green – emerald or something – and it looked a bit crumpled. One button was not closed. Shit. That is why Mike had “deduced” what they have been up to; or, more accurately, what had caused the rush through London in less than 15 minutes.

 

* * *

 

Tonight is like their first night all over.

It had taken a month or so until John had found out why Sherlock had been delayed for their first meeting (date?). Oh, and yes, John had printed out the e-mail Sherlock had sent him, the one that started it all (and John is sure that his magnificent bastard had done the same, even he claims to have simply stored it in his mind palace. Probably, if John would search for it properly, he would even find it hidden under Sherlock’s precious cashmere jumpers or something alike. The jumpers he also claimed to not own and miraculously appeared one cold January Sunday when someone had forgotten to pay the heating bill.):

 

> Dear Doctor Watson,
> 
> Thank you for your input (not that I need it. Or ask for it.).
> 
> After spending a certain amount of time in my mind palace, I concede that you might not be entirely wrong. To further conduct the discussion regarding my newest book - 'The Science of Seduction' -and its containing queer subtext I would suggest a meeting at Speedy’ s Café in 221B Baker Street in London, next Sunday.
> 
> Sherlock Holmes
> 
> P.S.: Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway.

 

Anyway, apparently, Sherlock had cyber stalker John prior (“Doing research, John! Also, I had to be sure you are a real person.” “By digging up every photo from my military past?” “One cannot be too careful.” “Oh, _careful_. Then tell me, Mr. Holmes, does looking at a soldier make you feel... _safe_.”).

It had turned out that his beautiful boyfriend had a military kink. (“Do not say it like that, John.” “How should I say it instead? Getting off on me in my uniform, or would just me being naked and having my dog tags handing around my neck would to the trick as well?” John’s retort had ended all talk for a while. Old dogs, new tricks? So true.) Some days, John had felt as if his libido had reached university levels again. Not that John was complaining... Yet, Sherlock had refused to call it by its name, “Do you have to be so... _blasé_ about it.”.

It had taken John another month before he had realised why Sherlock had reacted the way he had. Yes, John Watson is an idiot. Prior, Sherlock had only seen the photos but after meeting John in the flesh at Speedy’s café, he had seen the shoulder wound and his psychosomatic limp, he had spotted the bags under his eyes, and he had deduced the nightmares that haunted his sleep and the ghosts that clung to him in broad daylight too. The five long years being a soldier was not a wank fantasy, but the reality of war.

Obviously, his genius of a boyfriend could have said that he felt uncomfortable addressing his sexual desires because he feared possible triggers. Something along those lines, John cannot imitate Sherlock’s speech pattern entirely well, even after being together for more than one year. Alternatively, “to transform your life-changing time into a role-play simply to gratify their impulses.” Seriously, for a man who can come up with such sentences, Sherlock is tremendously dim sometimes.

John was quite pleased to surprise him – and also that he put a word like “tremendously” in; yes, Sherlock’s been rubbing off on him, and not only in _that_ way – one Sunday in full military gear. That had been a wake-up call. Oh, boy. Let us say that Sherlock’s _interest_ in John’s military past had caused the delay today as well.

 

* * *

 

In a way, Sue reminds John of Sherlock – not that he dares to say it aloud. John is sure that his genius of a boyfriend would be sulking for a whole weekend on their sofa afterwards. Most likely, he would secretly pond about this comment far longer and weeks later, when John has forgotten all about it, Sherlock would sneak it in, casual as if it is just a normal conversation: “You want women. I can understand... even I enjoyed...”

John would be flabbergasted (and a bit hurt and other things but he would push this down to ease the distress of his love first) because what the fuck? All because Sue Perkins has curly hair, wears glasses and happens to speak in a snarky speech because let us be real, the reply “being queer is the least interesting part of me”? That one could have been come straight out of Sherlock Holmes’ mouth.

Oh, and yes, she is a woman.

Lesbian but that does not matter because John Watson is gay as well. In addition, he is very much in love with Sherlock Holmes. His idiot, however, and this is why John is grinning. Let him be a fool from time to time because it means that he is _his_ fool. Also, if Sherlock gets too frenetic (“I made a spreadsheet, John! Do you know how many similarities there are...”), John can just always just kiss him. It is a good way to shut Sherlock up and to shut down his mind too.

John is becoming an expert of his own over time.

 

Anyway, the guest of honour, one Sue Perkins – lesbian icon, comedian, broadcaster, and actress and, tonight, a writer – clashes magnificently in her grey jumper with ‘PATTI SMITH’ in light blue capital letters written on its front.

 

It could be a coincidence but what has Sherlock to say about such things? Exactly, the universe is rarely so lazy. It was one of the very first lines John had learned by heart when he first had read Sherlock’s book, ‘The Science of Seduction’. It is such a catchphrase, and it would make a great book title, as John have might mentioned once or twice (or twenty times) already. Anyway, why the universe?

Because a song by Patti Smith had been playing when they had first met on a cold Sunday in December more than one year ago. Which John cannot recall because he had been more focused on the man with the mesmerizing eyes behind glasses.

“Power to the people,” Sherlock mumbles. His man can read John’s mind. “Amazing,” John whispers back instantly. Furthermore, Sherlock still blushes when being complimented by John, who knows for sure now that neither the weather nor anything else is the reason. John is the reason.

 

* * *

 

“It looks like it is a piece of work. Not going to lie: it will take awhile. However, never fear: it is so worth it. Do not eat the baiser straight out of the bowl though. And no, licking it from your partner’s fingers is no excuse.”

Wink. Wink.

Sue Perkins has toned down her ‘The Great British Bake Off’-persona a bit; however, she knows that people are coming in because of it too. It is a balancing act, but she is a professional. So far, it works smoothly. John is sure that if the setting would not be a bookstore with a history, close to the university, and the crowd has its elderly folks, Sue would have made a line about slick making everything more smooth or so already.

“The first three steps are easy: heat the oven to 190C/fan 170C/gas 5. Butter tins or line with non-stick baking paper or use spray. Child’s play. Next step: mix all the ingredients together until you have a smooth, soft batter and then fill the mixture in the tin. Got that?”

Nod.

“How can you nod when I have not mentioned the ingredients? Are you paying attention at all, dear audience?”

Hesitant nod. Some look a bit taken aback. Some are flustered. Some might be a bit pissed. Sue seems not to care: she continues with her lecture.

“The ingredients are the following: 200g flour, 200g sugar, 200g butter or vegetable oil, four eggs, two tablespoons of milk and one packet of baking powder. I hope you are taking notes. No, just kidding. You are all going to buy my book in the end, right. Anyway, where was I? Now, we are baking the cake for 20 minutes until its golden brown and the cake ‘spring’s back’. Do not put the fruits on it prior because – surprise – they will sink down. Also, the cake gets all ‘slosh’. I know what some recipes say... am I the only one who ask themselves: ‘who has written this?’ and ‘Have you ever baked a cake in your life?’”

Some yeah-, and some naysayer.

“While the cake bakes for 20 minutes – not 45 minutes! – slice the strawberries and the rhubarb, and then distribute them evenly over the cake. NOPE.”

And hallelujah, the audience is awake. Sue Perkins gets agitated like Sherlock when someone does not get what is so obvious, and most times, even in front of them. The list of things is long, and includes things like different types of tobacco ash. John is not entirely sure if that is supposed to be common knowledge but he can admit that he knows far more about ash nowadays.

“Slice the rhubarb. Then, first, the strawberry jam or real fruits even that does not make much sense as they will be completely lost all form when baked twice, so just skip it and go for jam, for Christ’s sake. Then, the rhubarb in small pieces all over the dough. It is also a question of sweetness. Half your moaning about rhubarbs oh, so weird, taste could be solved with you know, knowing how to handle it.”

John cannot be the only who hears the silent “idiot”? Or, maybe it was his boyfriend. Who agrees with Sue – who would have known.

The knowledge Sherlock has about baking is alarming; even he claims that it is all chemistry and therefore in his field of work. One Sunday afternoon, throwing in conversation as if it was nothing, John had learned that his significant other had indeed a degree in Chemistry, and from Cambridge University to boot. Irrelevant, if there had not been a certificate, he would have probably delete it, or so he had claimed. That so often an experiment goes wrong in the flat however, had been an opportunity to tease him – after all, an graduated scientist should not make so many mistakes, right? And Sherlock played along, always, because he knows what comes after teasing...

“Layers are important. First, the sponge, then the strawberry jam, then the rhubarb, then the baiser-topping.”

John is not blushing, he is not. It is all Sherlock’s fault anyway. He is the one who whispers French into John’s ear from time to time in his sultry voice, no; John is not sporting a hard-on in Mike’s bookstore.

“Sandwiched between jam and baiser-topping. Good boy.”

Fuck. John really tries to listen to Sue’s voice who know gives instruction on the meringue/baiser, and John wills his mind to substitute the original French term for the baked good because no, Sherlock’s knowing smirk is already too much.

“Beat the egg whites until foamy, then add the lemon juice and one spoon of sugar at a time, and mix until the egg whites form stiff peaks.”

It does not help that Sue accentuates the words that could/can have a double meaning. Wicked woman, wicked.

“I know what the recipe says: take the cake out of the oven and spread the meringue all over it. HELL: Let it cool down a bit? Otherwise... what do you think you are going to get?”

Mess, John is a mess as well. Coming here tonight was a bad idea.

“And it gets worse. Do you know what they want you to do? To bake the cake for another 10-12 minutes or until the meringue is golden brown. On top of the 45 minutes, they have already mentioned! What kind of a sponge cake is it in the end? Shortbread? Also, what meringue works under such temperatures and in such short time? Asking for a friend... I always used the 100C and an hour at last, but what do I know? I only hosted ‘The Great British Bake Off’, and hell, I thought we have kicked out some horrible bakers before (!) the competition already started. Tip: Just bake the baiser extra. Afterwards, just put it on the sponge cake with the jam. Revolutionary. What you can learn when you not only blog but actually bake.” [2]

Apparently, there has been a recipe already – however, it sucks. And Sue Perkins because she is Sue Perkins has been commenting in all ways why it sucks so hard.

 

* * *

 

“Tonight, I am in good company as I spot a fellow author in the audience: Mr. Sherlock Holmes, everyone.”

To John’s surprise, his boyfriend actually stands up and plasters something resembling a smile on his face. It is not that Sherlock is a “high-functional sociopath” or a “machine” as his famous detective claimed in its first book and just recently corrected in his newest novel in his series, ‘A Study in Love’. Yes, from time to time, John functions as live-in-PA, research assistant, editor and cheerleader, or how he secretly calls it, the babysitter instead of the boyfriend. After all, one has to distance oneself from “wrong!” shouting at everyone and anyone, demanding nicotine patches, or walking around the flat only wearing a sheet – for storytelling purpose only! – which frustrated John even more.

 

Yet, it is the best life.

 

Sure, there are the row with the chip and chain-machine because the bestselling-author could not be arsed to shop, but always, John would come back to 221b where Sherlock would offer his credit card nonchalantly (“Here, take mine.”). Further, his weird obsession with his socks (“It’s an index, John.”).

And believe Dr. John H. Watson, former Captain of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, you do not want to face a Sherlock Holmes without a story to tell – writer’s block is a battlefield, and John Watson had had bad days and invaded Afghanistan (even that had not been only him). Also, the wall in 221b is not surviving another blatant title. ‘A Study in Love’ ended with all-new wallpaper as a result. (In addition, a new table but that had been the angry sex). That Sherlock’s publishing company has a budget for ‘SH going AWOL’ – John is not sure of being insulted on Sherlock’s behalf or being relieved.

As for their sex life... let us say that only in the fictional sense, there had been a lack of explicit scenes, at least, until John Watson appeared in Sherlock Holmes’ life. ‘The Science of Seduction’ as well as all the other later books in the series were not based on true events, of course. Let us simply say that both men liked to play games, John likes a good gamble and Sherlock likes a challenge, and both really like each other.

John might have still his job at the clinic. He is a doctor, after all, but his heart is not in it anymore. His heart belongs to 221b, or more accurate, to the man who shares it with: his magnificent bastard, Sherlock Holmes.

 

* * *

 

“We are actually planning a project together...”

John jumps out of his reverie; Sue talking – a new project? With Sherlock? This is news...

“This might be news to some people also that I am willing to work with another human being.”

Some looks; some laughs. John wants to punch them in their face but also to make sense out of this.

“Realising... recently... not really recently, but in the great scheme of things...”

Now, Sherlock is rambling. What is happening? John has the strong urge to grab his hand, to offer a should or whatever he needs because they are each other’s shelters, always.

“I am...”

“What Sherlock wants to say: it is time for some unsung voices, untold stories. I have done my share with Anne Lister, for instance. Our lesbian hero who met in hotels for sex with her female lovers while Jane Austen wrote her romance novels, who married her wife 180 years prior same-sex marriages happened in the UK, oh, how much more deliciously scandalous details do we know thanks to her diary. [3] What we want to express is that representation matters. We know, or should know, that queer people are not ‘invented’ in the 21st century. As we live now, we need modern queer stories, and I am not telling any news when I say that Sherlock is a gay author famous for his detective series. Long story short: We are combining our talents to bring Ngaio Marsh to screen. Holmes for the writing, me for the producing. We are aiming to pitch it to the BBC. Our mission is to make it as queer as fuck as Marsh always intended, and only the audio books narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch managed to a certain degree [4]. The Game is on!”

 

Sue is back to her sure self, smiling-smirking. They are similar, a good team, and John is not jealous but grateful. Because Sherlock needs friends too; sure, he has John and Mrs Hudson, and when John’s army mates come over or they go the pub, he accompanies John but what is his? John has ‘The Bard’ and Mike Stamford; both original doctors turned out storyteller in a way. Publishing industry is tough. Sure, Sherlock is his own man and he can fight his own but someone to call a friend?

When John had met Sherlock, he had refused to see such things important. "Caring is not an advantage" and all that rubbish, but as well as he will never repeat that "love is a chemical defect found on the losing side", he goes for friendship these days. Just like his famous detective had learned that he is terribly human, Sherlock Holmes has discovered that he has a heart as well, one that belongs to John Watson now (not that he says it as such... but John can read between the lines. He is quite good at reading the subtext, after all.)

 

* * *

 

There is some raise of background noise. One of the older men who looks as if he goes for laughing in the cellar, starts talking.

“Sir, not to offend but we came here for Victorian baking and instead we get female queer detectives? No offense, sir, but this is not the Sherlock-show!”

“No, it is not...”

Pregnant pause. John fears... and is on alert... and addicted.

“YET.” His madman almost jumps up from his seat and almost dances to the set-up stage. He is a drama queen, and John should have seen it coming, so far, his lunatic had been far too civilized. So, what had he up his sleeve? “And no worries, dear Sue was kind enough to offer me the stage. You, sir, have diabetes anyway and should not eat cake. John Watson, you keep me right. You are the wisest and best man I have ever known. I promise that we’ will never be bored. Will you marry me?”

“Sherlock... what is the meaning of all this? Do not tell me that this is happen to be all a set-up...”

“To ask you to marry me? Of course, John. Glad, that you finally caught on. To be insulted, pardon, Sue, to be lectured about proper baking? If, and I say, IF not when, I had questions I would ask in private. You know that I prefer to text, John. Yes, John, I choose this evening with intent, as I go about all things in life as you know. ‘The Bard’ is where we met, in a strange way, but so it happens when two strange men meet. I am not a public man, John, even I am a public figure but... I am proud... of you, us, John, that you chose such an awkward sod as myself as a constant companion. Who else but you would endure my flights of fancy as well as my mandolin thoughts, and yes, my habit to switch into Victorian or even Shakespearean English? I am not an easy man to live with – and you mastered it. I am not an easy man to love – and you... blasted it, I am rubbish at this... Quick, John, if you love me: will you marry me?”

“Is this a joke?”

“Why?”

“Because of the date?”

“What date?”

“April 1st.”

“It is... what is with it?”

No, John is not going to explain his boyfriend, no, fiancé, the meaning of the day. At least, not at the moment. John could have shake his head – and to think that deleting the solar system was the most outrages thing his madman has done – instead, he opts for the more obvious choice: “Yes.” And because his genius of a fiancé seems to need repeating or clarification or reassurance, he replies: “Yes, I do.”

 

* * *

 

Later, there are some people gathering around the book tables. Not so surprising, they not only want to chat with Sue Perkins and got her autograph, but also one of Sherlock too. The most unusual thing is that Sherlock is indeed doing what is asked, acted politely and seem to be smiling for real. Even when the old man come to him, the one that had treated him so harshly, he had not one bad word for him now. Instead, it seems as if he is apologizing and even mentioning a doctor specializing in diabetes. Overall, it is strange.

 

Maybe John should john him – is that not expected of a husband? To support one’s lover? In this case, to share the burden of fame that Sherlock so clearly despises.

He had told John that he had wanted to go for a pseudonym at first but his publisher had refused. “Sherlock, you have opted for an anonymous hero already, another secret, another layer, another mystery? Too much, too eccentric”, his publisher had said. He would not even concede the point that the genre is a mystery novel, or, a detective series whose central motif is to reveal the murder aka solve the mystery. “Too cliché”, his short retort; overall, clearly not amused. Sherlock’s got talent, his publisher was no fool, he detected it from the first moment, and yet, he was old-fashioned and Sherlock should please everyone, the old fashioned ones as well as getting new audiences, hence, “only one mystery”.

Therefore, Sherlock has to endure moments like this. He, who is one of his kind, unique – and to be treasured. John does that – in private. John is not one for spotlight – and so is Sherlock.

Sherlock, who is overwhelmed easily by the input and the stimuli of the masses, the normal life, oh, his poor brain starting to rotten when nothing happens as well as going into frightful overdrive when presented with a plot bunny, at the moment, he must be struggling.

The crowd has circled him in. There are books handed to him, photographs as well, and something that is called fan art if John is not mistaken. Just seconds ago, a photographer took some photos. Of course, the younger folks have their smart phone ready, selfie with the star etc. John is confident that if he googles tonight’s event, he will find the upload of the complete thing, maybe even a reaction video to the proposal, some fans meaning it well but yeah... screaming: “OMG! OMG ! OMG!”

So, should John rescue him and ease it all?

 

“He is happy”, a voice says.

John turns around and there she stands, Sue Perkins, the guest-of-honour, and apparently, Sherlock’s new work- partner. She looks more down-to-earth now, like a woman-next-door, one that you would love to chat up, invite for a coffee or tea, just for the fun of it because you have got the right feeling that she has a lot to tell. Also, that maybe one coffee would be enough because she talks at a hundred words a minute. However, you would make it two or even three because you would jump from one topic to the next, and one second she would scold and the next she would charm and the next... who knows, but you would care because she does.

And that might be the heart of it all. The reason why John thought first that Sue Perkins resembles Sherlock. Because it is not the looks – even they do look a bit alike – or the publicity or their profession, hell, it is not even their vast knowledge, it is their energy. They are a human melting pot, bits and pieces, like a curiosity shop just... human.

"Being queer is the least interesting fact about me", this is what Sue Perkins had said when she had been outed. Meeting Sue tonight, seeing her in action, John gets at least a sense about the rightness of that statement. There are some people who believe that being queer is unique itself, that it makes you different, exotic, and most times it is not meant in a kind way. Sue Perkins, however, not unlike Sherlock Holmes, they are queer in more than one way.

And it is good, it is magnificent even. It is what makes them Sue Perkins and Sherlock Holmes.

 

People are clapping. Why are they clapping? Oh, the autograph signing is finished. Excellent. Sherlock is giving John an amused look. Smug bastard. His very own magnificent bastard. John is proud.

Today, he cannot imagine not standing next to this madman who is wearing a suit and glasses that make him look even more sexy (“Distinguished, John”, another whisper, seriously, how can he appear next to him so fast? He must be magic, there is no other rational explanation. Maybe John should add a new nickname, only in private, of course, Sorcerer Supreme or so.), and not being so proud to call him his.

 

And maybe he, John Watson, is, a tiny bit, his magnificent bastard too.

 

After all, he is going to be his husband.

 

THE END

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

[1] A nod to Sheldon Reynolds episode, 'The Case of the Perfect Husband' aka Howard!Holmes (1954). The "gay night out" featured prominently in the BBC radio production (1999) as well, there in context with "cockfight - highly illegal of course, but it amuses Holmes so much". I can highly recommended all productions as well as Reynold's second Sherlock Holmes project aka Whitehead!Holmes (1980). Said Geoffrey Whitehead plays Moriarty in the radio production later, and as some might know, years later Whitehead will do a radio comedy called "Cabin Pressure"... alongside a man called... Benedict Cumberbatch.

 

[2] Victorian Sponge cake with a twist

Ingredients

  * Cake



200g flour

200g sugar

200g butter or vegetable oil

4 eggs

2 tbsps milk

20g/5 tbsps/ca. 1 packet baking powder

  * Strawberry and rhubarb topping



3 rhubarb stalks

300g strawberries OR 300g strawberry jam

  * Meringue/baiser



4 egg whites

200g sugar

 

Method

  1. Heat oven to 190C/fan 170C/gas 5. Butter tins or line with no-stick baking paper or use spray.
  2. First: the Victoria sponge cake: In a large bowl, beat all the cake ingredients together until you have a smooth, soft butter. Fill the mixture in the tin. Bake the cake for 20 minutes until golden brown and the cake “springs back”.
  3. It’s time for the strawberry & rhubarb-filling: Slice the rhubarb in small (!) pieces, add sugar if necessary, and distribute the fruit over the cake. The next layer is the strawberry jam, or real fruits even they lose all the form in the baking process, so there’s no need for them IMO.
  4. Prepare the meringue/baiser as the topping. Beat the egg whites until foamy, one spoon of sugar at a time, and don’t forget: start slowly, then turn up the beat. Put the (eat-on)mess on new baking paper. Bake it for an hour at last at ca. 100C. Put it as the topping as the last layer on the cake: _Voilà_.



In case you really want to read the original recipe: [ http://www.deliciousromania.com/recipes/desserts/rhubarb-strawberry-and-meringue-cake/ ](http://www.deliciousromania.com/recipes/desserts/rhubarb-strawberry-and-meringue-cake/)

 

[3] Real thing which you should watch ASAP if you haven't done it already. Its called “Revealing Anne Lister” (BBC, 2010). No one needs Andrew Davies treatment aka "Gentleman Jack". In particular, lesbians.

[4] Again, don't walk, run. "Am I hot", anyone (from: “Artist in Crime”), or, as an opening sentence (!): “Im coming out” (from: “Scales of Justice”). Stella Duffy - two times Stone Wall Winner - has just recently finished a new book in Marsh's legacy, "Murder in the morgue". Yep, one needs the gayest; again, no one needed the straight- and whitewashed BBC TV production. (Which sucked because you can try A LOT but Marsh... straight? Nope. Hell, there are people who aren't completely sold on Oscar Wilde. Marsh? There's queer and then there's... her.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are very welcome.


End file.
